The Gift of Volkeye by Marque Strickland, Wrinklegus PoisonTongue Page B

sack, examining the contents.
    “Do you know what you got in here, boy? These ain’t no blasted toys, fool! Enough of this stuff here will kill a man!”
    A feeling of eeriness interrupted the father in his tongue-lashing, as he could’ve sworn that he saw his son grin at his last remark. Dismissing the possibility of something so absurd, the man grabbed his son by the arm, rushing him to the house.
    “Wait’ll you see what your son was playing with in me shed!” he said to his wife, who’d just come running up the muddy hill. She followed them indoors.
    Murlach’s father pushed him down firmly in a chair at the kitchen table. Then he watched his parents exit only to return minutes later, changed out of their clothes, robed and towel drying their heads.
    “What’s this your father says about you playing with the farming chemicals?” his mother asked, hands on her hips.
    “Well, I wasn’t really playing , mother,” he said, grimacing with anger.
    Murlach hated the fact that his intellect was so far ahead of his parents that they hadn’t the slightest clue as to what he was: brilliant. He could hardly stomach them thinking his interest in these chemicals was just childish fun. And if they weren’t getting on his nerves with this, they were constantly pestering him to help with the crops…as if he was in mind to follow in their footsteps and completely waste his intellect, growing cabbages! The fools, what did they take him for?
    “I told you, it’s all them blasted books he been reading, making him funny in the head, ya know?” His father tapped his index finger on his temple several times. “That’s where he’s been getting the idea that it’s okay to play with me chems!”
    “The word is ‘CHEMICALS,’ father, and it just so happens that I understand them and all they can do much more than you!” Murlach growled. “So please do not try to lecture me on how dangerous they are! You’ll only hurt yourself!”
    Murlach stalked off to his quarters, while his folks just stood there dumbfounded. Being that they’d never witnessed this level of direct disrespect from him, they were unsure of how to punish him. In the past, if they ever laid a hand on Murlach for anything it was merely because they may have overheard him swearing or the like. And even then the extent of their discipline was a whack on the back of the head and grounding him for a weekend. However, due to the fact that his heart was in his work, Murlach never left the house anyway, so their efforts were pointless.
    Flustered, they each uttered the first chastisement that came to mind, whether they actually meant to live up to their word or not.
    “…And you’ll bloody stay in there, you will, until you’ve learned some manners, boy!” his mother snapped.
    “Yeah, and…no…er…ummm…no supper for you. In fact, I don’t even want to see you tonight, as I just may loosen me belt and tan your ass!” the father yelled, scratching his head, wondering if he’d sounded convincing. “There’s a first time for everything, boy!” he added in a harsher tone, not stumbling over his words this time.
    Murlach, throwing them obscene gestures from behind his bedroom door, was about to retort when he noticed that the lizards were no longer making a racket. He turned to inspect the matter and was more than pleased at what he found.
    Excellent! he thought, clasping his hands over his mouth, holding in a hysterically wicked laugh that nearly escaped. He calmed himself.
    Now all he needed to do was wait and see.
    **
    A few hours passed, and he’d paced his room the entire time. Sure enough, like clockwork, as soon as the timers hit nine hours past midday, he heard the rap at is door.
    “Lights out, boy,” his father said, “And we gon’ talk about that lip o’ yours tomorrow!”
    Murlach could hear his father walking away, heading to bed with his mother. Their door echoed as it slammed shut, and with that sound Murlach lay back on his bed,